And their inhabitants are feeble-handed, They were broken down, and are dried up. They have been the herb of the field, And the greenness of the tender grass, Grass of the roofs, And blasted corn, before it hath risen up.
For, lo, the day hath come, burning as a furnace, And all the proud, and every wicked doer, have been stubble, And burnt them hath the day that came, Said Jehovah of Hosts, That there is not left to them root or branch,